


Twist and Turn (Teach Me to Ride)

by sweeterthankarma



Category: Motherland: Fort Salem (TV)
Genre: Bisexual Abigail Bellweather, Bisexual Tally Craven, Cunnilingus, F/F, Face-Sitting, Finger Sucking, First Time, Friends With Benefits, Pre S1E4: Hail Beltane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:49:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24317590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweeterthankarma/pseuds/sweeterthankarma
Summary: “Abigail,” Tally gasps as she bursts through the door. “I think you were right.”“Yeah, of course I was.” She’s not listening though, not really, and only when Tally stands at the end of her bed and stares at her does she give her her full attention. "What was I right about?”Tally doesn’t laugh at her cockiness. Instead, she fiddles with the medal draped around her neck and keeps staring at Abigail.“What you said earlier. About...you know, practice. I guess you’re right, it would be good for me to know what I’m doing before Beltane happens.”There’s a long, awkward silence where Tally wrings her hands and sways on her feet, but then she gives in and says, “so where do we want to do it?”
Relationships: Abigail Bellweather/Tally Craven
Comments: 19
Kudos: 87





	Twist and Turn (Teach Me to Ride)

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the song "Hold On" by Flor.

Tally hasn’t stopped pacing for hours. 

There’s three days until the Beltane festivities begin and she seems to know more about it than everyone else, even Abigail, despite her familial upbringing and the way that her earliest childhood memories revolved around the hushed, historical whispers about the frenzied activities. Though the latter’s offered her fair share of teasing and anticipatory comments, almost all of the discussion stems from Tally, who now stands in front of the mirror, holding dresses up to her slim frame with a steady face of dissatisfaction.

“You already tried that one,” Raelle supplies from her spot on her bed, only half paying attention to what’s going on around her. 

Tally huffs, rolls her eyes at both Raelle and herself. Abigail watches, entertained and curious, as she gives up, stuffing a pile of outfits back into her dresser drawer and then clambering up to her own bed on the top bunk. The second she gets comfortable, Raelle shoots up, heading for the door.

“I’m going to go train,” she says, grabbing her jacket from its perch on the back of her desk chair. “I’ll catch you guys for dinner probably.”

“Okay,” Abigail replies, uninterested, as Tally encourages, “work hard, have fun!”

She’s always chipper, even when she’s bothered, and Abigail doesn’t know how she does it. Especially when Raelle lies to their faces, obviously going to Scylla’s dorm instead of the gymnasium. Abigail would chide her on it if she hadn’t already done so this morning, their earlier training session having been cut short. Abigail has been trying to remind herself that she may be a partner and a comrade but she’s not a mother, no matter how much she feels like she has to act like one. 

It’s quiet for a few minutes, surprisingly so. Abigail isn’t used to this kind of silence. It’s rare that the dormitories on either side of them are hushed, not filled with the sound of laughter or sobs or tearing bandages. The bruises have been especially dark lately, training finally leaving some marks. Abigail likes it. She feels strong, feels herself becoming stronger each and every day.

“Are you nervous for Beltane?” Tally asks suddenly. It breaks Abigail out of her trance, makes her pull her calloused hand away from the underside of her knee, where she’d been stroking a tender yellow-blue mark. 

“No,” Abigail admits, and she isn't. She’s not nervous about much. “But then again, I’ve done this before.”  
Tally turns over onto her side, stops looking at the ceiling and instead turns her gaze to Abigail. From her position above her, closer to the ceiling, she somehow looks smaller. 

“You’ve had sex, not _Beltane sex._ This is a whole different thing.”

Abigail considers this. “Then it should be better than usual.”

Tally’s quiet again. Abigail can’t tell quite where her gaze is directed— the floorboards, her barren wall, the windowpane maybe, anywhere but her face.

“Tally,” Abigail starts gently, “don’t take this the wrong way, but...do you really want to not know what you’re doing your first time?”

“I want it to be special,” Tally replies instantly, not entirely answering the question. Her tone is determined, practiced. “I know enough, anyway.”

Abigail raises her eyebrows. She’s trying really hard not to be mean here. 

“Do you?” is all she responds with, and Abigail can practically see the nerves bubbling up behind her neutral expression. “I mean...no one’s perfect at it their first time, but are you sure you want to go through all that stress during your first Beltane? That’s, like, double the pressure.”

Tally sits up, crosses her legs and folds her knees halfway up to her chest. Her eyes are bright, both yearning and fearful.

“It’s definitely a lot,” she admits.

Abigail can feel the air in the room getting heavier, tell that Tally’s getting antsy. So instead she derails the conversation just a little and pries by saying, “I can’t believe you didn’t take advantage of all those opportunities in NorCal.” 

Tally looks up from her lap, seemingly dumbfounded. “What do you mean?”

Abigail chuckles a little, under her breath as if just to herself. She should have known that a conversation of this caliber would go like this with Tally.

She stands up, leans against her bedpost and gives her a look, all raised eyebrows and sly lips.

“You know, being around all the ladies,” she starts, “I would’ve imagined your mark would get shiny there mighty quick, Tal.”

“Why?” Tally asks, and the inquisitiveness bleeds through her voice, makes Abigail want to laugh again. She busies herself with making her bed and without even turning around, she knows what Tally’s face must look like. Eyes blown, cheeks flushed, mind recalibrating. Abigail likes that look on her, when it happens in training or when Raelle makes some joke or when Abigail does things like this. 

“Why?” Abigail repeats. She keeps her back to Tally, fluffs her pillows. She hears Tally clamber down the ladder, hop to the floor. “Well, if I had your upbringing, I can guarantee that my mark would be just as transformed as it is now, boys be damned.”

Finally Abigail turns. Tally looks exactly like she had expected her to— taken aback— and Abigail finally gives in, states her point as bluntly as she possibly can.

“I like girls, Raelle likes girls, most girls that I know like girls, and you...well, you certainly give off a vibe that would say that you fit right in with them. With us.”

Tally doesn’t flush. Abigail had expected her to. Instead she just stares Abigail down, an unusual kind of intensity in her eyes, and for a brief moment Abigail’s mind fills with panic, convinced she’s misread this entire thing. Maybe Tally’s one of those rare kind of homophobes left in the world, maybe she lived in that region of California that never progressed past alt-right policies, maybe—

“Maybe I’m just projecting, though,” Abigail gets out before any more awkward seconds pass between them. “Just hoping.”

 _Shit._ She hopes Tally doesn’t pick up on that last part. What does she have to hope for? Tally’s sexuality makes no difference to her either way. Why’d she even say that?

“No,” Tally replies, stepping closer, suddenly apologetic. “I...you’re not wrong, I just...” she trails off, unsure. “I don’t know, I guess I never really thought about it. I always thought that kind of attraction was normal and so I never really gave it a second thought.”

Relief floods through Abigail. “Yeah, no, it is normal, for sure. I was the same way, I didn’t realize that there were some girls that were strictly into boys until I was maybe thirteen because I always just knew bisexuality to be the norm, at least for me.”

Tally nods enthusiastically. She’s propped up against Abigail’s desk, hanging onto her every word, and Abigail realizes that maybe she’s never really spoken about this out loud. 

“My mom and I never talked about relationships,” she says, confirming Abigail’s theory. “And I had crushes and even a sort of girlfriend for a few weeks, but nothing ever went beyond making out. I wanted...you know, _it,_ and would have had it if it was possible and special and right, but it just never happened. So now I’m here. Still a virgin.”

Tally sounds more ashamed saying that last word than Abigail remembers her being before. It makes her stomach churn, guilt rising up to the surface of her mind as she reflects on the innocent way Tally had approved the suggestion the day that they and Raelle had met and become a unit. 

“That’s okay, you know,” Abigail tells her. Her voice is gentler now. “You know what, forget what I said. You should have your first time the way you want it, whenever you want it, and if that means it’ll happen at Beltane, be my guest. Not that I even really have any say in what you do— and that’s my point. Do what you want to do.”

“Okay,” Tally replies, but it’s clear that she’s still thinking.

Abigail moves to tie up her hair and slip her boots on. When she turns to face Tally, she finds that her eyes are still on her, curious and insistent and unwavering. Abigail tries not to notice, to wonder why. 

“I’m gonna go train now, wanna come with?” 

Tally’s eager to join. “Yeah, I think I could definitely benefit from blowing off some steam.”

* * *

  
  


The rest of the night is easy, normal. Raelle actually follows through and meets them for dinner, and Abigail behaves and doesn’t make a comment about the hickey she sees on her collarbone, just the faintest blush of pink and red that contrasts the paleness of her skin. It’s not easy to hold back, but she does it, especially when Raelle says that she’s actually training afterwards. As long as every member of her unit is actually trying to make it through— and she certainly doesn’t have to worry about Tally or herself— Abigail thinks she can let her guard down, at least a little bit. 

Abigail makes it back to their room first. She showers, spends a longer time than usual conditioning her hair simply because there’s no one else in the bathroom, a rarity she isn’t accustomed to. She cracks open the window and a book on Seeds and lets herself relax, diving deep into the words and pages until she almost forgets where she is, who she is. There’s a peace in this, in knowledge, in feeling herself expand, even if the book she’s reading does have a gratuitous amount of poorly drawn and faded diagrams. 

“Abigail,” Tally gasps as she bursts through the door. “I think you were right.”

Abigail doesn’t look up from her book. “Yeah, of course I was.” She’s not listening though, not paying really, and only when Tally stands at the end of her bed and stares at her does she give her her full attention.

“What was I right about?”

Tally doesn’t laugh at her cockiness. Instead, she fiddles with the medal draped around her neck and keeps staring at Abigail. 

“You know…”

Abigail gives her a blank look. Of course she isn’t going to make this easy for her. 

“What you said earlier. About...you know, practice. I guess you’re right, it would be good for me to know what I’m doing before Beltane happens.”

“Cool,” is all Abigail says. 

“I don’t want to make a fool out of myself,” Tally adds, and Abigail nods. 

“Of course.”

There’s a long, awkward silence where Tally wrings her hands and sways on her feet and Abigail picks up her book, searching for her page, but then Tally gives in and says, “so where do we want to do it?”

That gets Abigail’s full attention— and okay, she’s not going to lie, she’s certainly not against sleeping with Tally, and sure, that was sort of her intention when bringing this up in the first place, but she didn’t think she’d be able to convince Tally, let alone that _she_ would want to sleep with _her._ Besides, that flirting was so subconscious, submerged in cockiness and intrigue more than any real expectation, that now Abigail suddenly doesn’t know how to react. 

“Um…is the door locked? Raelle shouldn’t be back for awhile, if you want to...try now.”

 _Try_ isn’t the right word and Abigail chides herself for being thrown off by this, for stumbling on her words for even a second. This is nothing she hasn’t done before; she’s taken numerous girls’ and boys’ virginities, yet there’s something about the way Tally rushes over to check the lock, moving quick on her feet like Abigail’s going to change her mind any second, that makes her feel different. A little honored. 

She stands up, eye to eye to Tally when she practically skips back over. Tally’s smiling a little, giddy like she was the day that they met. She lets out a tiny laugh. 

_Cute,_ Abigail thinks. 

“Are you sure about this?” she asks. “One hundred percent?”

Tally nods. Orange tinted strands of hair fall away from their familiar spot behind her ear when she does so, and Abigail thinks about tucking them back for her. She decides better of it, then five seconds later counteracts herself and goes through with it.

“Okay, so...we’ll use my bed. Obviously.”

Tally listens to Abigail like she’s giving a lecture, fully attentive. “Of course.”

“And…” Abigail doesn’t really know how to start this. “Just...okay, come here.”

She reaches out for Tally’s hands, places them on her waist tentatively. Tally doesn’t need to be told to pull her closer, to step in until they’re practically nose to nose, lips mere centimeters apart. 

Abigail’s kissed her friends before. It’s the sort of thing that usually starts and ends with laughter, but here, she can tell that Tally’s breath is bated and somehow, for some reason, she finds that hers is too. 

She makes Tally close the distance, just to prove she really wants this. Her lips are feather light, soft and gentle and cautious like everything else about her always is, but when Abigail kisses her back, shows that this is okay with her too, it shifts. Tally uses her tongue, her teeth— sparingly, but enough— and her hands wander from Abigail’s back up to her shoulders and then to her cheeks, where she holds her close. 

Abigail guides them to the bed, slow and steady. There’s less fumbling than she expects when she pushes the blankets out of the way, clambers onto the bed and pulls Tally flush to her chest; instead there’s just more kissing, more of Tally’s soft, panting breaths echoing in her ears. 

It takes a few minutes for Tally to get confident enough, but when Abigail squeezes her hips and nudges her to settle atop her own waist, she complies, moving smoothly and quickly. She lifts her arms and tugs off her shirt, not without a drawn out, cautious look at Abigail by way of confirmation. 

There’s something in the sight before her that makes Abigail’s stomach flip. Tally’s muscles flex, her back arched as she undresses, and she’s precise in the method of return, the way she tosses her long hair over her shoulder and swoops back down to kiss Abigail again.

Tally’s good at this, at making out, and it reminds Abigail that this isn’t what they’re here for. She’s supposed to be a teacher. 

She lifts her hips just enough, finds a point of friction between her own leg and the space between both of Tally’s, and the other girl gasps, low and breathy. Abigail breaks away just enough to chuckle. 

“Come on, let me get up to speed,” she says, and Tally gives her space, scoots over onto her knees to let Abigail rid of her clothes. Tally works on the button of her jeans, thumbs fumbling, and when Abigail, already down to her bra and underwear, catches sight of her shaking hands, she reaches out to steady her. 

“Hey. I got it.”

She unbuttons, zips and helps Tally shrug out of her jeans, the whole process remarkably ungraceful. Abigail almost gets a knee to the face and Tally erupts into sensitive giggles when her underwear almost slips down her hips too, but Abigail just gives her an unaffected smile. 

“Those’ll be going soon enough,” she says— reassures, maybe?— and then adds, just to be safe, “as long as you’re still okay with this.”

A visible shiver overcomes Tally and she’s on top of Abigail again before either of them fully know what’s happening.

“I want you, Abigail,” she says, voice hushed and breath warm, and Abigail takes in a sharp breath. “I want this. Show me what to do.”

Well, she can’t say no to that. 

“Okay,” she gets out, “well...come here.”

She lays back down, invites Tally to lean half on top of her, her head closer to her stomach than her face. Tally makes a move to urge further down, her hands just barely brushing against the hem of her underwear, but Abigail stops her, keeps her where she is.

“I know I’m not a guy, but you know, you can use your imagination.” Abigail explains. She holds up two fingers, placing them to Tally’s lips, and watches in amusement as Tally’s eyebrows furrow. She gives her a look, questioning, and then Abigail slips her index finger just past Tally’s teeth and Tally closes her mouth around her and _oh,_ she gets what this is all about.

“Obviously, a dick is a bit longer and wider, but this’ll give you the gist of it.”

Tally follows the motions, easily accepting another finger into her mouth. Her diligence catches Abigail off guard. She’s not ashamed, not blushing, not now. 

“And guys like it when you do this to their fingers sometimes, anyway.” After a long pause, she adds, “girls too.”

Tally lets out a tiny, barely audible sound at that. She takes Abigail’s fingers in deeper, swirls her tongue around both her knuckles and her fingertips as her eyes flutter shut. 

She’s good at this, sensual and intuitive and slow but calculated, too. It’s almost impressive, the way that Tally’s nerves seem to have dissipated just as quickly as fascination has taken over.

Abigail lets out a sigh of pleasure, shifts just a millimeter so that Tally’s weight is a little closer to where she wants it, and suddenly Tally stops.

Her eyes are bright, sparking. “You like it? Me doing this?”

Abigail nods, honest. “I do.” Her hand goes to rest on Tally’s jaw, waiting, and she hasn’t even realized that she’s made the conscious choice to do so until it’s already happened. Tally softens under her touch.

“Why?”

“I don’t know. It just feels good. Makes me feel powerful.” After a pause, she says, “you look sexy doing it.” The words are low, coming from somewhere deep in her chest, and it encourages Tally, makes her start up again, taking Abigail’s fingers in deeper, three digits this time, pushing towards the back of her throat. With her free hand, she holds onto Abigail’s waist and earns another subtle buck of hips from her. 

“I’ll show you,” Abigail says after the moment has gone on far longer than it needs to. She doesn’t move quite yet to do so; instead she takes her wet fingers away from Tally’s lips and drags them along the side of her chest, past her breasts that are still covered with a light pink fabric. 

“Should I take this off?” Tally asks, as if reading her thoughts, and Abigail has to fight to say “only if you want to” instead of “please, yes.”

They both take their bras off at the same time, the movements a bit methodical especially as Abigail struggles to reach her own clasp given her positioning on the bed. Once they’re bare on the top half, Tally looks at Abigail for what’s definitely an inappropriately long amount of time, practically drinking in the sight of her. She’s _beautiful._

Abigail flushes, noticing, and she jumps to her feet, grabbing her own bra from its spot on the bedsheets and slinking over to the door. 

“This will make sure Raelle _definitely_ doesn’t come in,” she explains to a still distracted Tally who just gapes after her. “I just hope nobody else sees this as an opportunity to get a free bra and dares to steal it.”

Tally laughs at this and tries to play nonchalant, to seem cool as she brushes her hair behind her ears and averts her gaze to her own lap. When Abigail comes back to the bed she just leans with a hand against the mattress, practically posing in front of her.

“Like what you see, Tal?” she asks.

“Maybe,” Tally admits, feeling brave. It’s not like Abigail doesn’t already know the answer anyway; she’s flushing bright pink all the way from her neck to her ears, ridiculously turned on and obvious about it.

Tally’s never been good at flirting, but she thinks what she’s said is enough: Abigail chuckles, comes closer and frames Tally’s face with her hands before kissing her harder than she expects.

Abigail wastes no time before slipping into the bed beside her, a motion that somehow already seems familiar.

“Wait, will people know we’re having sex if they see the bra on the door?” Tally asks, breaking away. It hits her suddenly— she’s having sex. 

“Who cares?” Abigail counters, moving her lips to Tally’s bare chest, and when she kisses down the valley between her breasts, Tally finds that she certainly doesn’t.

“I can take it down if you want,” Abigail offers, words muffled, “but that means I’ll have to get up again.”

“I’m good,” Tally assures her.

Minutes later when Abigail rises up to slot her lips against Tally’s again she makes good on her promise, lifting Tally’s hand from her neck and guiding it to her jaw, eventually settling it between their panting, open mouths. 

“Can I?” she asks, lips brushing against Tally’s as she whispers. Tally nods eagerly, watches her with bright, curious eyes. Abigail’s never seen them so blown, so wide, so intense. Her sense of wonder is kind of amazing. Definitely sort of adorable. 

She opens her mouth to take three of Tally’s fingers inside at once, patient but certainly not hesitating. She licks around them and guides Tally’s wrist with her own hand to bring them in deeper, moaning around the fullness in her mouth. She closes her eyes and drops her head back, putting on a little show, and feels pride simmering in her gut when Tally’s breaths come sharper, mesmerized. They get quicker as Abigail turns her gaze onto her, gauging her reaction. 

“You’re so…” Tally starts, and Abigail nods, grins a little around her fingers.

“I told you,” she says, then stops, seeing the desperation growing in Tally’s eyes. “Now you’ve got training for boys or girls. Everyone finds it hot.”

“I never even thought of that before,” Tally admits, moving to a new position at the same time Abigail does, though she isn’t quite sure where she’s supposed to go or what she’s meant to do next. “I never thought I’d like that.”

Abigail takes her hand, guides it down to the space between her own thighs. She looks down at the sight, Tally with her hand pressed against her own core, and has to fight to bring her gaze back up to her eyes. 

“Soon enough you’ll find all the things that you like. What do you know already?”

Tally is unsure for a moment. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, her right hand shifting against the blankets, but then she gives in and moves, her palm rocking down to cover her pubic area, a firm offering of pressure. 

She moves generally, recklessly, just applying friction in as much of a grand scope as she can, but then she isolates her clit, lifts her hips and exposes a patch of wetness seeping through her underwear, and Abigail can’t help but curse under her breath.

As if being encouraged, Tally moves her underwear to the side, exposing her pink cunt to Abigail in one fluid motion, so fast she can’t second guess herself. She smooths her fingers against the soft flesh, shivers when she touches her clit directly, and she lets out a moan at the same time Abigail does.

“Tally,” Abigail asks, voice suddenly a bit hoarse, throat dry, “can I go down on you?”

“Yes,” Tally nearly whimpers. Her underwear is off in seconds, thrown to the floor, and Abigail breathes in her scent, her warmth, before settling between her thighs. 

“When you go down on someone,” she explains, suddenly remembering that she’s supposed to be teaching Tally and also hoping that her words will turn her on even more, “you want them to feel as good as I’m going to make you feel.”

Tally swallows, shovels a hasty hand through her hair as she leans back against Abigail’s pillow. “Okay.”

She’s dutiful, attentive to Abigail’s every motion, encouraging with whines and moans and pretty little flinches, and Abigail is too, already recognizing the way that Tally needs direct clit stimulation. Less on her entrance, more up top, though when she teases a finger inside just to the knuckle, Tally lets out the loudest groan she’s heard yet. 

Abigail pulses her digits in and out, slow and without ceasing her oral ministrations on her clit. Tally’s chest is heaving, tainted a rosy kind of pink as a few hickeys blossom faintly on her chest. It’s a gorgeous sight. 

“Wait,” Tally says all of a sudden, hips jerking from the mattress, “how do I know if I’ve...you know.”

Abigail chuckles, licks another stripe up her folds. “Don’t worry about it, you’ll know.”

And it’s true, because minutes later— after Abigail’s jaw has started to go numb and her fingers are sore but Tally’s getting wetter by the minute and it’s honestly _really hot,_ so much so that she doesn’t even care about her own impending carpal tunnel— it happens. 

_“Shit,_ Abigail,” Tally whines, voice high pitched and needy. Abigail licks at her harder, rides her through the wave. She’s never heard Tally swear before. 

“You know?” 

“Yeah,” Tally pants. “I…wow.”

There’s the slightest burning, tingling sensation creeping up on the skin behind her ear, just barely registering to her because as soon as she catches her breath, she gets up and urges Abigail to take her spot.

“Come on, now you,” she murmurs, and Abigail complies, abandoning her own panties and laying bare before her. 

Tally takes another long moment to drink in the sight of her. “You’re beautiful,” she says, “but I know you hear that all the time.”

“I do,” Abigail admits, “but that doesn’t change how nice it is to hear it from you.”

She smiles at her, soft and sweet and meaning it, really meaning all the kindness that she can muster towards her. Tally’s hands rest on her thighs, absentmindedly tracing lines and curves of bruises that match the ones on Tally’s own skin. Finally, she looks back at Abigail— at _her,_ all dark skinned and toned and glistening with warmth so close to Tally’s touch.

“So, what should I do?” Tally asks, eager like a straight A student taking on a semester’s project. Abigail keeps smiling at her and says, “whatever you want.”

Tally seems to need to think about this. She sits still, then leans forward to kiss Abigail again, mouth her way down her neck and chest and breasts, taking her time there when Abigail responds positively. 

“You can use your teeth, I don’t mind,” Abigail tells her when Tally has accidentally scraped her incisors against the nub of her nipple and mistaken her sound of surprise for pain. 

Tally flicks her gaze up, looking for more confirmation, and then does as told, squeezing Abigail’s right breast with her calloused hands as she suckles on her left. Her fingertips are searching and gentle but commanding, especially when she lays between Abigail’s thighs and keeps a grip on her breast, only letting go when she offers that first kiss to her pubic bone— and even then, Tally takes her time wandering her palms down Abigail’s flat, firm stomach. 

“Start slow, find a rhythm,” Abigail encourages. “Whatever you liked that I did to you, try that to me. And take your time.”

Tally fingers through the sparse curls before her. She bends to lick a stripe down her folds and then back up, earning a shudder from Abigail, and keeps it up, exploring a little deeper each time. Abigail’s hands splay in her hair, rub perfect circles against her scalp as Tally holds onto her legs and dares to press an outlier of a kiss to the bend where her leg meets her hips.

Tally does take her time. Abigail watches, in awe and quiet relaxation, as the sight unfolds before her; Tally seeks between her legs like she’s looking for treasure, hunting down gold and glory, and she doesn’t quit, even when Abigail can tell her tongue is getting sore.

“Hey, you can take a break,” Abigail starts, but then she’s cut off by a moan— both Tally’s and her own as Tally honestly presses her _entire face_ into her vulva.

Only when she breaks away what feels like an eternity later for a breath of air and Abigail’s still feeling the aftershocks of the way her mouth and fingers had felt in that one particular spot— and she hasn’t even come yet— Abigail offers something else.

“What, did I do something wrong?” Tally asks, worry creasing across her face, and Abigail pulls her in for a reassuring kiss by way of answering her. She doesn’t need to kiss her as much as she has been tonight; this is just an educational sort of hookup, but Abigail knows herself, knows Tally, knows _girls_ and the way that they always tend to operate— and orgasm— better when they’re being kissed.  
Besides, it’s hard for Abigail to not want to kiss Tally when she’s kneeling there, mouth glistening and lips slightly swollen and eyes determined, all focused on her.

“Lay down,” Abigail suggests, and Tally takes it like an order. 

“If you don’t want to do this, we can find another position, or you can try using my d—” Tally doesn’t give Abigail the chance to finish. She urges her closer, wraps her arms around her thighs and pulls her core straight to her mouth, finishing what she had started before with a hungry vengeance.

It’s better than Tally had anticipated, if she’s honest. Granted, she never expected to be in a situation like this, certainly not before Beltane and especially not with her unit partner, but opportunities and circumstances be damned, because suddenly all she can think about is Abigail, the way that she tastes and feels and even smells— mainly neutral, a bit clean like soap, a little musky in the same way that she recognizes from herself. 

Abigail moans, louder than Tally and more enthusiastic, and Tally hopes, prays that she isn’t faking it, isn’t leading her on to think she’s doing better than she really is. She’s still very unsure with where her hands should go and whether she should keep them still or not, but rubbing them along Abigail’s hips seem to be doing the trick, and the entire concept of breathing while eating someone out seems to be a task and a half, but she’s learning. She’s doing it. She’s having sex. She’s making someone feel good. She’s making _Abigail_ feel good.

Abigail, with her all her easy sarcasm and subtle, silent compassion; Abigail, who fights hard and takes no bullshit; Abigail, who slips her hand into Tally’s on the way back to barracks whenever training was exceptionally brutal; Abigail, who pushes Tally to be better but never do more than she can handle. 

Abigail shudders, rolls her hips hard and then eases up and off of Tally’s mouth. It’s a hurried motion, over and done so quickly Tally isn’t entirely sure what’s happened, but then she looks over at Abigail, heaving and laying beside her with a soothing hand draped between her thighs, and the satisfied smirk on her face eases any and all of her worries.

“Congratulations,” Abigail says, “you just gave your first orgasm.”

Tally laughs. She’s almost convinced she’s dreaming at this point.

“Let’s see your mark!” Abigail suggests, leaping off the bed and moving to the mirror on the wall. They stand side by side and face their reflections, moonlight faintly illuminating the floor and their figures, and Tally tries but can’t quite look away from the sight of her and Abigail in the mirror, standing naked and worn and sated. Their hair is mussed, cheeks red with a few hickeys visible, much more on Tally than on Abigail. They look pretty. They look real. They look like women, strong and independent but reliant on one another all the same.

Tally’s mind replays the past period of time— she doesn’t even know how long it’s been— and she looks at their reflections, thinks about all the positions they were just in, how many positions they could be in sometime in the near or distant future, or maybe never again. 

“Your mark,” Abigail reminds her, and she turns so that they can both see it. Abigail’s fingers linger for just a second on her neck, her touch chaste as she holds her hair out of view, and Tally tries not to wish that she’d keep her hands on her. 

“Pretty,” Abigail says. She steps back to marvel at her, faux applauding. “Just like you. You’re gonna kill it at Beltane.”

Tally laughs, thanks her, and pretends she hadn’t forgotten all about that. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed, please let me know! This was such a blast to write, I adore Tallygail so much. (Is that their ship name? That's what I'm calling them.) Feel free to talk to me in the comments or at my Tumblr under the same username, sweeterthankarma, about anything and everything M:FS and fandom related!
> 
> Also, I'm thinking of writing a part 2 where the Reel doesn't lead Tally and Abigail together but Tally decides after being with Gerit for a little while that it's really Abigail that she wants. If this sounds like something people would want to read, let me know! :)


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